Party on Cloud Gay
by singlefire
Summary: Blaine finds himself in a situation with a dead body and soon meets the universe's most homosexual immortal being. Warning: Crack Ahead.


I'm so sorry for you if you're reading this. I know it's not really good writing, I just published it for fun. Starts cracky, but having not planned any writing, it ended up more emotional at the end.

It was just an ordinary, plain old day in Westerville, Ohio. Blaine Anderson was not, however, an ordinary man. In some ways, yes, maybe he was. The young man stood in front of the mirror, hands covered in gel, trying to fix his curls just the right way. He slipped into his school uniform and long coat, making sure to zip it. He headed out his bedroom door with his books and winter gloves, saying goodbye to his mother. But if you knew just what this display of innocence was leading up to... well, you never would have guessed it.

Blaine walked past one block, making sure to look as though headed for school at Dalton Academy. He then turned left, and headed back towards his house. But instead he slipped through the hole under the loose fence, and entered the small room, left from part of an abandoned retail warehouse. He sat down at the table, facing the slightly foreboding mustachioed man across from him.

"Eagle." He acknowledged the other man, acting at leisure.

"Garrett."

"What have you got for me?"

Eagle leaned over the thorny old table, passing along the note.

Blaine nodded and stood up to leave.

"Garrett."

Blaine stopped, almost forgetting his fake name.

"Yes sir?"

The older man snorted amusedly.

"Got enough ammo?"

"Yes sir." replied Blaine, patting the gun nestled inside his coat.

Blaine wasn't all that careful when it came to killing people, but he was confident and that's what mattered to him. But today had been an easy day. As usual, there was only one insignificant person to kill. Blaine didn't know him, didn't even know why he was to kill him. But, upon arriving at the hideout of this man, Blaine saw him with his back turned. At this point in his career, Blaine wouldn't hesitate a second to put a bullet through the target's head. So he did. As he secured a largeish rock from the banks of the Olentangy River around the victim's body with rope, he contemplated who this man in particular might be. Probably a drug dealer, whom Eagle wants to eliminate. Blaine supposed that was who half these people were. He'd been in the business for about three months, killing one or two people a day. He was used to doing the job; it was a daily routine. He was simply accustomed to the gruesomeness of it all. The only thing he still feared other than getting caught was the gouging of the eyeball.

Since the job on some days, like this one, required a bit of on-foot travel, Eagle or another supervisor wouldn't be able to confirm that the person had been successfully slain. Blaine's responsibility was to remove one eyeball as evidence. While some other people in the group would simply disconnect the eyeball by wrenching it out using two fingers, Blaine preferred using a pocket knife. It did, however, remind him of sixth grade a bit, when his teacher would commend the children for finding the "little black bead" found by slicing a fish's eye in half.

Blaine carried the mystery man out to the dock on the river. Clutching the dislodged and bloody eyeball in one hand, he kicked him until he rolled off the dock. Blaine watched, satisfied, as the body sunk quickly to where he would never see it again. He trudged off the dock, starting the walk of a mile or so back to the warehouse to collect his money and tradable drugs. Of course he was surprised when a gunshot sounded and a burning pain shot through his back. He collapsed on the ground, the eyeball rolling off into the oozing mud.

He lay there for what seemed like hours, but was only one hour, wishing someone kind would come and help him by bringing him to the hospital or something. But along the riverbank there was no one. No one to even put him out of his misery. Blaine felt his body becoming limper, fainter, but also more numb as the blood continued to leak oh so slowly from his rather large wound. He found himself thinking why it couldn't have just gone through his heart. As he thought this, while becoming more lightheaded, he allowed his eyes to close. Soon everything was silent. He felt like he was flying, though he didn't have control of where he was going. It felt like he was shooting straight upwards and his eyes were cemented shut. A loud bang was heard and suddenly he was floating, his eyes open.

He'd come to a very sudden stop. If he leaned one way, he'd fall a bit, but ultimately kept spinning in the same place. He worked on keeping balance midair, and noticed his surroundings.

He was in the sky.

He'd never had a second that he truly felt dead. Never falling asleep and waking up even just a second later. It had all happened in sequence. Did that mean he was in heaven?

He laughed aloud at the idea, his voice echoing almost infinitely in space. He was practically a serial killer on Earth. Hell, that's exactly what he was! As he began to ponder what he was supposed to be doing here, he heard a contented voice from behind him.

"Face this way please, my little dear."

Blaine gave himself a slight turn to his right. And now, what the fuck was he seeing? There were white clouds, forming a kind of island, with all kinds of very queer looking men and women. Old and young, twinky and muscled. The men, dressed in such getup as rainbow hula skirts and light pink boxer-briefs, all formed a huge conga line around the island. Women hung out in the middle, dancing to their own beats and occasionally kissing each other. Some of the less flamboyant folk sat near the conga line, enjoying food and the festivities.

And directly in front of him, there was a tan, seemingly ageless man with silver hair tied back into a braid. He wore a gaudy toga consisting of three large pink, yellow, and blue stripes.

"It's time for you to enter the gates."

Blaine just stared in disbelief.

"Perhaps I need to introduce myself." he paused, as if waiting for confirmation. Blaine nodded, raising his eyebrow quite dramatically.

"I am God's pansexual son. You know, the one they never mentioned in the Bible." he offered a smile.

He then seemed to come to his senses a bit. Just a bit.

"Oh. Yes. You wouldn't know, then. I apologize. Let me lead you into Heaven." he offered a well-manicured hand, which Blaine took.

While he was lead away from the anti-gravity zone and onto the rather gelatinous-feeling clouds, he saw a tasteless glittery pink sign that read:

HEAVEN:

GAY SECTOR

"Excuse me, but why am I in Heaven?" Blaine asked.

"Well you got good grades, when you did attend school each day, that is, and you were kind."

"I was a serial killer."

"Oh, believe me, I know."

There was a pause. The sky was becoming darker and the gays were filtering out of the area. But where were they disappearing to?

"Okay... well, what may I call you?"

The man flashed a bright grin. "Everyone calls me Gaylord."

"I should've guessed." Blaine said, deciding he liked this place very much, though he'd never been the dancing, show-off-your-package-in-gay-heaven type. "Where's everyone going?"

"Up to the higher clouds to sleep," Gaylord replied. "You can't see them from here, you have to dive upwards again. Just point your hands in the air, bend your knees, and jump. The concealed ceiling will keep you from going too far, so give it all your might. It's not hard."

Blaine decided to not ask questions, and do what he was told. Before he knew it, his skull smashed into something not very cushiony above him. As he fought to grab hold of something, anything, his hands sank into another gelatin cloud.

There were rows of them! All kinds of people were pulling parts of the clouds over themselves, readying for sleep. Blaine swung his legs up onto the cloud easily and hopped in. _Fuck physics_, he thought drowsily. He pulled the unexpectedly soft, cottony layers of inner cloud over himself, but he couldn't sleep. When everyone else's eyes were closed, Blaine just gazed up at the close-feeling stars. They weren't really much closer than when he was back on Earth, but without as much haze and clouds in the way, they looked dazzling.

Blaine tried to remember what he used to imagine heaven to be like, even if he hadn't believed in it completely. He'd thought it would be a world not unlike the one where he was born, except with all the bad things eliminated. However, in his vision it hadn't been monotonous either. He imagined parties and get-togethers, perhaps, but not a full-out gay pride parade just atop the clouds. But of course, he could _definitely_ live with the way it really was.

He tried not to think of the fact that he might be immortal in heaven. That he'd never leave. He would never have the chance to just eternally sleep. To be literally dead to the world, and in heaven too. These frightening thoughts were what always made Blaine accepting of death. Though he knew he'd die on Earth eventually, maybe those thoughts aided him in keeping calm during his short-lived killing days. And what had that really been for? Money? Or was he just so welcoming of death that he allowed it to take him early?

As Blaine was about to give up and close his eyes, something so beautifully and strikingly _faint _in appearance flew through the air. Its eyes looked down at Blaine, swooping down and landing at the foot of his cloud. And those eyes. They were just so _gorgeous_.They seemed to change colors when the creature tilted his head in any direction. Blue to green and green to blue. He had a pale, soft featured face to match, and behind it all, a pair of golden, gently glittering wings. Blaine was dumbfounded as he stared at the angel. It was an angel, right?

"I'm an angel, yes. Your angel, Blaine Anderson, for the time being."

Blaine somehow knew that this angel was extremely smart, having guessed his first question.

"Why don't you have a halo?"

"I still need to help someone. Someone like you. I can tell you're frustrated."

"I was only worried what was going to happen to me here. If I'll ever just... be completely, totally dead."

The angel smiled.

"My job is to help you die. After your time in heaven is finished, of course." he added hastily. "You've got to celebrate, then you'll just be an angel like me, coming out at nighttime to help the others who were once in your place."

"Do you have a name?"

"I'm Kurt."

"...Kurt." Blaine repeated. "You're a very kind angel."

"Thank you." Kurt said as a soft, distant bell chimed. "I'd better get a move on. I'll see you tomorrow, Blaine."

Bending over the cloud, Kurt gave Blaine a soft kiss on the lips. Then he slowly breaststroked through the sky as if it were water, using his wings to glide.

Once Blaine began forcing himself to stop thinking of Kurt, he finally fell asleep.

The next morning, he jumped off the high clouds and fell through the sky with the others.

Every day Blaine would have fun on the island, even figuring out about other things the island had to offer. It turned out that most angels could be found singing in a choir near midday. Blaine showed up, only to watch Kurt. There were a few humans in it too, but he didn't want to join, even if he missed singing. And besides, last night Kurt had briefly mentioned a solo he had to do during rehearsal. So Blaine definitely had to show up. Kurt had such a melodious _talking_ voice, so he couldn't imagine how wonderful a singer he must be.

Kurt came down from the risers and Blaine watched as attentively as he possibly could. He clasped his hands together and held them near his chest. Focusing on a focal point in the distance, he sang.

"I have no choice, I hear your voice, feels like flying"

Blaine felt like his heart had exploded and damaged his brain. He gaped, eyes not leaving his angel for the rest of rehearsal. Afterwards, he slipped out unnoticed and joined the dancing near the front of the island so he could just walk a bit and collect his thoughts, which were mostly about _how the fuck_ can someone be so wonderful and perfect. But then he thought about how Kurt might have died. Maybe he would ask.

That night, Kurt settled down into bed with Blaine. He usually didn't do this, but he could tell Blaine had a lot on his mind.

"I saw you at rehearsal, your singing is fabulous."

"Thanks."

"Can I ask you something personal?"

"Of course."

"How did you die?"

"By a miracle." Kurt said with an indignant tone.

Blaine had a feeling this was leading somewhere depressing.

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked, turning on his side to face Kurt.

"It was a miracle that I died the way I did. A heavy, sharp piece of metal standing against the wall in my dad's shop fell and sliced through the underside of my leg. It split open an artery and I needed a blood transfusion. But the ditzy old doctor messed up the blood type and I was dead and then I was here, right away."

"But why was it a miracle?"

"I didn't want to die of suicide. I was terrified I would become suicidal. That was the person I never wanted to be. I also didn't want someone to beat me senseless in a parking lot somewhere. I wouldn't want them to be satisfied. I even got a serious death threat. My life sucked more than most people's. I had just a glimpse of happiness when I went to Dalton Academy to spy on their glee club, the Warblers, a few days before I died. "

Blaine stopped breathing for a second, but didn't say anything. Kurt had to get his story out.

"I was walking down the staircase. There was a flood of students, all headed in the same direction. I tapped someone on the back. He turned around. I told him I was new and asked what was going on. He told me to follow him. I almost got lost in the sea of people, trying to catch up. We went to the far corner of the room and watched the Warblers sing Katy Perry's Teenage Dream."

"No..." Blaine whimpered. It was too terrible to be true.

"What?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"They were really good, especially the lead singer, although I couldn't see him at all. Anyway, I didn't see any reason to stay there any longer so I left after they were finished. The place seemed pretty friendly but I saw no real reason I would ever want to attend there. A few days later I was dead."

"Kurt, KURT!" Blaine shook him in desperation.

"What! What is it?"

"Kurt, I was _on _that goddamn staircase that day!" he said, sobbing over the very thought.

"What?" Kurt said in disbelief.

"I didn't see you at all! I _was_ the fucking lead singer!"

Kurt wrapped his arms around him, letting him cry.

"Blaine, shhh, don't feel bad." Kurt said consolingly. Blaine calmed down a bit.

"Kurt, what if it would've been me? I would've turned around on that staircase... and... I would've seen the most beautiful person I'd ever laid eyes on."

Kurt's eyes started glinting with faint tears as well.

"I would've taken your hand and led you down the staircase, and through my secret shortcut to the room we performed in. And I'd have sung, just to you. We could've gone for coffee and I could've listened to your problems and convinced you to stay at Dalton. You'd be alive."

All through the night, Blaine lay alone, fretting about what had happened.

_The staircase, that staircase... I could've walked a little slower, or maybe a little faster... This beautiful, lonely angel... I could've known him, when we weren't both in the process of dying... then again, your whole life brings you closer to death..._

Gaylord watched the unfolding situation below from his small cloud above the sleeping area's ceiling. Never before had an angel spilled such an important death story. Usually they were told just so the human would feel bonded to their angel, but this time there were serious consequences.

Blaine remained devasted for the next few days. Gaylord knew he couldn't _force _Blaine to be happy, but this was really a bad situation. Blaine was 6 days past when he was scheduled to become an angel, and Gaylord couldn't stand that disorganization or bear to see Blaine moping about the island any longer. He decided to do the only thing he _could_ do.

Blaine was sleeping in his cloud that night, when suddenly there was nothing, and he had no idea where he was or _who _he was. His feet hit something hard and his legs worked.

He was at Dalton Academy and he was Warbler Blaine Anderson, heading off to sing just another song as a treat to the other students.

"Excuse me?"

Blaine turned around to face, well, probably the most stylishly-dressed man in the school.

"Um, hi. Can I ask you a question? I'm... I'm new here." Kurt said, nervous about "first" impressions.

"My name is Blaine."

The angel smiled knowingly.

"Kurt."


End file.
